


Hold me closer

by theotherella



Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Spies & Secret Agents, Assassin Patton Sanders, Enemies to Friends, Logic | Logan Sanders Needs a Hug, M/M, Morality | Patton Sanders Needs a Hug, Pre-Relationship, Slow Dancing, Spy Logan Sanders
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-30
Updated: 2020-01-30
Packaged: 2021-02-18 23:02:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 868
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22434607
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theotherella/pseuds/theotherella
Summary: Melancholy 3am slow dancing but it's a spy and an assassin on the run.
Relationships: Logic | Logan Sanders/Morality | Patton Sanders
Comments: 6
Kudos: 24





	Hold me closer

**Author's Note:**

> The song Logan sings is a hazily remembered Tiny Dancer by Elton John

The light from the streetlamp filtered through the thin material they had put over the windows, throwing the abandoned kitchen into washed-out relief.

Logan turned over blinking when he saw Patton wasn’t beside him. He pushed himself up to his elbow.

Patton was curled in the corner of the room, staring at a wall. He was letting his breaths out rhythmically, almost mechanical. His eyes were open, but unseeing.

“Are you okay?” Logan asked, voice gruff with sleep.

The silence felt empty, thin as the light. “Okay,” Patton echoed.

Logan savoured the warmth under his blanket for a moment later before he came over to stand by Patton. “You need to sleep.”

“I don’t have to,” Patton said, tilting his face up to look at Logan. A small challenge in the eye contact. Logan had promised the assassin that he was free to make his own choices, from now on. With tiny pushes, incremental as a cat sliding something fragile off a shelf, Patton waited to see where the limit to that would be. Logan was a spy, after all. An old enemy, even if they’d escaped together, hidden together, laughed together, a few times.

“No,” Logan said, holding his hand out to Patton. “Me neither. So, maybe- we could pass the time, a while.”

“How do you want to do that?”

“Um,” Logan left his hand out, but was rapidly beginning to feel more awkward. “I have a memory. Before my training. My parents, in the kitchen, dancing.”

Patton slid his hand into Logan’s and got up, smiling faintly. “Ah, I like our little kitchen, but we don’t got a radio.”

“I’ll…” Logan blushed slightly. “I can hum.”

“Sing, if we’re going to.” Patton put an arm around Logan’s waist and tucked himself next to him. You’d have to be in close quarters with him for a while, but Logan had a feeling the assassin was almost as much of a hugger as he looked. He leaned into little touches: high-fives, sitting side-by-side, passing equipment. Logan thought it unprofessional to offer a hug, and Patton never asked.

Logan took a step back and Patton went with him, their bare feet cold on the cracked title.

“Blue jean baby,” Logan started softly, “L.A. lady, something-something for the band.”

Patton giggled a little, and Logan put his hands on Patton’s shoulders, swaying his hips a little. “Uh, da-da….pirate smile….you marry a music man. Ballerina, you must have seen her, dancing in the sand.”

He was a little off key, and very red. Patton pulled him closer, putting his face over Logan’s shoulder so he couldn’t see his face.

The man was small, so much less intimidating than in their early games of cat-and-mouse. Still, Patton could incapacitate him easily from this position and escape by himself. But Logan had helped him to leave, and the two were sticking together. Something protective fluttered in Logan’s chest, alongside the old anxiety.

A police siren in the distance, and the air was paper-thin again, the scene a poor mockery of the safe domesticity neither had.

Logan raised his voice, “Music man he makes his stand

In the auditorium

Looking on she sings some songs

The words she knows, the tune she hums.”

Patton hummed a little with him, playful, smiling.

Logan’s voice wobbled. “Hold me closer, tiny dancer….”

Somewhere in a high building, his investigation file with Patton marked for arrest.

“Count the headlights on the highway.”

Somewhere on the city roads, his colleagues after him.

“Lay me down in sheets of linen.”

Somewhere underground, Patton’s mark list with his name on it.

“You had a busy day today.”

They’d slept in this place a few nights. It was time to run, soon. After a month, they were both tired of running.

Logan buried his face in Patton’s hair and Patton held on tighter, until they were hugging, not quite dancing, but still afraid to stop moving. He made his way through the chorus again, keeping the dark at bay. Another round, and Patton had the tune too. he hummed along and the tune was more layered, now, a fragile shell around the moment.

“Blue jean baby, L.A. Lady-”

“Logan Logan for the band,” Patton giggled, and came out to dance holding hands. They pulled each other in a shimmy, then Patton twirled into meet Logan and Logan began to laugh. “Ballerina, you must have seen Pat dancing in the sand.”

They laughed again, silly and happy for a moment.

Maybe they saw the kitchen as it might once have been around them, clean and homely, potted plants on the windowsill, sun and laughter making it airy and light. Maybe the stained walls and chipped tiles were the only things real to them.

“Oh how it feels so real

Lying here with no one near

Only you and you can hear me

When I say softly, softly- Patton?”

Patton looped his arms around Logan’s neck, “Hold me closer, tiny dancer!”

They sung the chorus again, and again, and when they slept, it was in a tangle of limbs, the music lifting the suffocating reality off their faces like a kitchen chair in the middle of a blanket fort.


End file.
